


A Date With Divinity

by Nitrobot



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Loki has trysts with mortals, M/M, Morning After
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 14:25:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6242899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nitrobot/pseuds/Nitrobot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frost princes from two separate worlds, and the aftermath of an ill-fated one night stand. </p><p> </p><p>  <s>Napoleon's not gonna let Illya forget this in a hurry.</s></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Date With Divinity

**Author's Note:**

> The one time I actually want a slash pairing involving Loki, and I need to do it myself cause it doesn't exist.  
> I'm offended on a personal level, to be honest.

Usually when Illya woke up with no memory of the previous night, he discovered his room either in ruins or completely unrecognisable- meaning he'd blacked out after another… episode, or someone had managed to catch him unawares and drag him miles away to a makeshift torture chamber, as was strangely common back in Russia.

This was neither of those situations, so he must have just gotten really drunk. It would have explained the dull, ceaseless thud at the back of his head…

And the complete stranger taking up one half of his bed.

“Took you long enough, Sleeping Beauty,” the man said through a smirk, and the voice that sliced through the pearls of his teeth sounded worlds away- whether or not that was because Illya could barely perceive the world he was lying in, he couldn't say just yet. He was on his feet, standing naked for a split second before he realised it and snatched a blanket over himself. But it was a moot gesture- the man’s eyes could have melted through glaciers, never mind a screen of flimsy fabric. 

"What did you do to me?" Illya asked slowly, fingers too busy keeping his blanket shield up to start twitching. 

The stranger, just as nude and almost glowing like dew wherever morning sunlight hit him, made a rumbling sound plucked right from the depths of the oceans. "Ooh, you are alluring when you're angry." When his eyebrows creased strands of black silk fell like lashes across his forehead, with more curling around his shoulders. It didn't make sense for a man to have hair so long, so much like a woman’s, yet… Illya was starting to suspect that what he was dealing with wasn't a man at all. 

He wasn't sure if that should have made him feel better or worse, deciding between having slept with another man or a monster. Fatigue had drained out of him now, leaving behind only confusion and a worn, constant wariness to keep up the pounding rush of blood in his head. " _Answer me."_ If the hiss was intentional, rather than just his anger escaping the only harmless way it could, it had the desired effect: his unwelcome companion tensed, a single eyebrow drawn in an arch over icy irises. Yet his smirk was permanent, as if carved on the smooth marble of his face.

"I didn't _do_ anything, Illya, except lie back and think of Asgard. _You_ were the one pulling me into your room…” He gestured over his sheathed body, the covers drawing ragged outlines over his sprawled limbs. “And here I still am. You don’t have to cover yourself, you know, I've already seen everything you have to show."

Illya's hands trembled, legs dragging him backwards as foreign curses filled his mouth. He tried to spit them out under his breath first before speaking, a thousand questions replacing them and fighting over each other. Only one managed to survive. “How do you know my name?”

For the first time in those few minutes Illya had known him, the man with no right to look so beautiful let his flawless face crack in half. Through the shards, a familiar type of confusion leaked out. “That will be because you… told me it? Last night?” He looked at Illya as if each word should be ringing something in his head, but Illya already had enough alarms going off as it was. Some seconds of silence passed, as awkward as they should have been, before the man burst into a laugh barely stifled by the hand at his lips. “You don't remember a bloody thing, do you? Oh well. I sometimes have that effect on mortals.” He half kicked, half pulled the bedsheets off, rising regardless of his own nudity as if impatient to show off every exposed inch of his body. Despite himself, everything he stood for and everything he'd been taught and trained, Illya couldn't stop staring. He only found his voice when the lingering scoffs of laughter brushed past him, and the man’s bare skin carried traces of winter and pine trees, Siberia, underneath the more rational smells of sweat and Illya's own cologne. 

“What… who are you?”

The man was pouring something for himself- water, vodka, Illya would have taken either no matter what time of day it was- and still projecting a smirk far older than the rest of him looked. “One question at a time, Illya, I'm surprised you're able to ask even one. When you asked who I was a few hours ago, I answered Loki. As for _what_ I am…” He held back from drinking whatever he held in his hand, staring at Illya over the rim of the glass and probably still smirking away behind it. “Well, even drunk I knew you wouldn't believe me, so I didn't bother saying.”

A million protests all clamoured to make themselves known; Illya never drank during a mission, he never would have allowed a stranger in his room; all of them tripping over each other in stutters. But Illya never had the chance to sort them out, as there was a knock on the door.

"Shouldn't you answer that?" Loki asked, flicking his eyes over to the door and still sipping away, daring Illya to keep staring at him so blatantly. 

The Russian’s nostrils flared as he yanked a dress robe from somewhere, having it replace the blanket over his lower half. "I'm not finished with you," Illya warned, with a finger pointed right in line with Loki’s faint smile- how he would have wished for a gun instead, but his hands were the second deadliest thing in the room. 

Loki just flashed a grin, dropping his gaze to where Illya was wrenching the robe knot tight around his waist. "Oh, I hope so..." 

At least he was out of sight of the doorway, so all Napoleon saw when Illya wrenched the door open was his mission partner somehow looking more constipated than usual- and rather ridiculous in a robe that was clearly too short for him. 

“Peril, I was going to ask yesterday but you… well, you were with company and looked like you'd rather not be disturbed with that murderous look you sometimes get. Anyway, you're here now, so... were you given complimentary shampoo in the bathroom?”

Illya resisted the urge to look behind him, half expecting to see Loki trying to sneak up. His fingers gripped the doorframe and drove a steady thump into it as they tapped. “What business is that of yours?”

“Well, _I_ wasn't given any, and I'm not going to complain if no one else was…” Napoleon trailed off as Illya retreated back into his room and to the bathroom, pointedly ignoring the man still lounging against his minibar, then returned to the doorway and threw a tiny bottle at Napoleon's chest before slamming the door shut.

“Very kind of you, Peril!” The American’s voice was muffled by the inches of oak between them, and Illya wasn't listening to it anyway. He was too busy wondering where Loki had disappeared to, because his space on the bed was left empty aside from disturbed, strangely cold sheets. As far as Illya could see, he hadn't left any clothing behind. Not even a note, or a quip that he would have wanted to strangle before it left his throat. 

Yet just as quickly as Loki vanished, so did the rage boil away, leaving behind nothing except a haunting chill in his veins.


End file.
